Cinema Talk

Lou Ye has finally followed up on the promise showed in Suzhou River (2000) but there’s a lot of flaws one will have to overlook in order to proclaim this film as a masterpiece. In Suzhou River, he seemed a bit fixated on a silly Hitchcock-esque mystery story. Here, he trades that in for something a bit more along the lines of The Regular Lovers or even Masculin, Feminin. In other words, this can easily be filed under the faux-genre of “young love in the mist of rebellion” or something like that. The film tries a bit too hard to be bleak at times, but it still has it’s fair share of strengths.

Yu Hong, a young and slightly naive country girl, moves to the city to attend in college. Though an almost rapid series of connections, she begins a self-destructive romance with Zhou Wei. They cannot comprehend their feelings for eachother and this usually results in anger and frustration, which subsequently leads Zhou Wei to call the whole thing off. One night, a protest breaks out near the campus and the ex-lovers go out into the chaos to look for one another. Now literally broken up, Zhou Wei attends a military school and later moves to Germany. Yu finds a job in a small town, not unlike the one she grew up in. She has a lover and he is now with her friend, Li Ti, but they both still long for one another.

As said before, this is undeniable taking some cues from Masculin Feminin and other films like that. Perhaps an even more accurate comparison would be to Jia Zhang-Ke’s Platform, which tackles relationships amidst the same time period. Earlier on, though, the focus looms mostly on Yu Hong. In fact, for awhile, it feels like the film is going to take a trip down the path of Morvern Callar and Millennium Mambo. The early scenes with Yu Hong partying, drinking, yelling, and so on have a much more carefree but poignant spirit in comparison to the film’s far too silly conclusion. The tone shifts far too rapidly, which I guess, corresponds with the seldom in-focus camera work. The most obvious point is the montage halfway through the film that inexplicably catches us up on seven years. Such needless exposition puts the director in many narrative holes that he has to take care of with melodramatic coincidences. Did Li Ti really need to jump off a building? The scene where she falls off comes off with no resonance whatsoever. Compare it with the scene in Zhimin Sheng’s Bliss, in which a kid we do not know, falls leaping from one building to another. Here, we have a character we are familiar with but I personally couldn’t help but laugh when she melodramatically dives to her death. In comparison, Bliss shows (well, implies) the death of a character we never knew prior but the emotional and physical repercussions are immediately felt. It’s hard to blame Lou Ye, though, considering the fact that I hold Bliss with the highest regard.

Despite stumbling in many areas (particularly towards the end) this is certainly worthwhile if only for being pretty much a perfectly crafted film. In addition to all the great technical qualities found in Lou’s other films, there seems to be a new-found interest in Alan Clarke-style tracking shots that look stunning here. There’s also much more liberal use of zooms and fades, which are annoying, but not overbearing. It’s really the film’s overtly-epic scope that makes it come off as too earnest to be the masterpiece it clearly wants to be. A film this long should put a bit more into the characters rather than just having them float from one awkward situation to another. Overall, this truly is an impressive film but it’s aspirations may over shadow some of its strengths.

Generally regarded as Godard’s last gasp at dramatic filmmaking, I expected this to be a bit more conventional. It’s not, though, but it ended up being one of his best post-Week End experiments. Yes, there’s signs of that self-parody style that Godard perfects in films like Hail Mary but for the most part, this is as close as he would get to matching the spirit of his “glory days” even though aesthetically, it’s pretty much just like his later films.

The film (loosely) tells the story of three people: a city girl fascinated by nature, a country girl trying to make a living as a prostitute, and a director whose trying to sort out his relationship problems. There’s some connections but they are, thankfully, revealed in a fairly reserved manner. The theme of slow-motion and speed-manipulation plays a large part, as a way of highlighting certain moments, such as two people making eye contact, a girl riding a bike, etc.

Describing the plot for a Godard film is useless, especially when we’re talking about the latter half of his career. In any case, this is actually one of my favorites of his. Perhaps a bit too inconsequential to be anything overwhelming, but a really good none the less. I’d say this is, by far, Godard’s most poetic feature but this probably has more to do with the Marguerite Duras references than any type of stylistic choices. In fact, the camera here is fairly static. At times, it does almost feel like a Tsai Ming-Liang film, though of course with a lot of pretentious blabbering thrown in. For the most part I pretty much like all the experimentation going on here. Some of the speed manipulation scenes are silly, but it’s sort of cool how abruptly they end. In retrospect, it fits perfectly with how Godard edits music in (and out) of his films. The abrupt cuts from opera to natural sound have always been a good idea but they work particularly well here. Again, this doesn’t go anywhere in an emotional, character-driven way, but technically, it’s one of the most evolved films I’ve ever seen. Not quite as innovative as Nicolas Roeg’s Bad Timing, which came out the same year, but the approach here is a little different anyway.

The only reason why this feels like one of his earlier films is because in a purely visceral (i.e non-explanatory) sense, it’s a bit more down-to-earth than something like say, Hail Mary. Yes, characters do still talk in monologues and articulate certain ideas far too clearly but for whatever reason, it comes off as poetic. Perhaps this is because most of the time, the dialogue is put up against fantastic images but also Isabelle Huppert and Nathalie Baye handle it in a way that it feels natural. With all this considered, this might be the best argument for Godard’s post-70s style, but I still have a lot more to see.

Despite being a decent enough film, this was sort of a disappointment. For whatever reason, it looked even better than São Paulo S/A but it actually ended up feeling sort of empty. Again, this is a pretty good film but in terms of establishing it’s characters and, for lack of a better term, amounting to anything emotionally, it doesn’t really do much. From a technical standpoint, it’s a bit more firm but still nothing completely original. It has it’s moments, definitely, and I actually enjoyed it a great deal more than this review implies but still, I was expecting something monumentally great.

A young priest moves in to a small town to take the place of an elder priest following his inevitable death. The town has become quite attached to the previous priest and the change is quite unwelcomed. Eventually, the priest begins to understand the awkwardness that surrounds the villagers. An old man hopes to marry his younger adoptive daughter, but seemingly everyone has fallen for the girl and they all have their own stories. Confused and tired of being manipulated, the priest and the girl decide to run off together but even alone, they have trouble articulating their feelings.

In all honesty, the first is basically just a reworking of Bresson’s Diary of a Country Priest, which is fine by me. Halfway in, the priest and the girl run away and the film takes a detour through Antonioni and/or Fires on the Plain territory. The problem is, this all just feels like stylization. When the two lovers are alone, they act odd, which does make sense on paper. Human relationships are always confusing in one way or another but in this case, they both come off as slightly stupid. I guess the characterization is too lazy to create any sort of interest in these people. They ultimately become nothing more than part of the frame, but again, that’s sort of okay with me considering how the film adds a lot of nice poetic touches. Perhaps I’m being a bit hard on this film, but I really did like it overall but it’s lack of character depth is far too noticeable when juxtaposed with all the other stuff I tend to watch. Visually speaking, it couldn’t be better.

Some have probably noticed that I’ve become quite enraptured by Kenji Mizoguchi’s filmography as of late, and as a result, I’ve been hungry (so to speak) for more long sequence shoots. In all honesty, I’ve been putting off Angelopolous for far too long and unlike his slow tracking shot peers, Béla Tarr and Miklós Jancsó, I find his films not guarded by pretentious excuses. Instead, his films are immediately accessible in an emotional context and this is even with the occasional silly surrealism thrown in. The Beekeeper represents everything great about him condensed into it’s essence. The intrusive orchestral cues are now replaced by the musical buzzing of bees. Any arguments for symbolism and allegories feel useless: this is two lost souls finding each other and the result is one of the best movies ever.

Following his daughter’s dramatic marriage reception and resignation as a teacher, Spyros begins his seemingly bland job as a beekeeper. He drives long distances going nowhere and in the process accidentally picks up a drifting young women. Her outgoing, carefree spirit clashes with Spyros’ deadpan personality. They part multiple times throughout the film but one always seems to stumble on the other.

To describe the plot of the film is a completely useless process. Like all great films, it’s story lies in more nuanced details. The expressions of the characters or lack there of, the compositions, the mood, and other abstract concepts that can’t factually be pointed out. Angelopolous always crafts his films with a standard of visual beauty, but I can honestly say there is not a wasted frame in this film. More often than not, I prefer long static takes to the slow tracking shots found in this film but in this case, it seems like the slightest camera movement creates a whole new frame. It’s almost as though Angelopolous is only slightly modifying images to create another image equal in visual power.

The avoidance of a “heavy” ponderous feeling often established in films such as this, is most likely a result of two really great performances. Marcello Mastroianni has always been a pretty good actor in my eyes. Even in silly Fellini movies, he seems quite reserved but here, he looks more like a character from a Tsai Ming-Liang film. The lack of dialogue also is key, as it seems in other Angelopolous efforts that the characters articulate their thoughts too well, almost as though everyone is a philosopher. The case couldn’t be more different in this film, Spyros hardly says a word and the girl, understandably, is content with superficial chit-chat. The tension created between this two characters is built upon constant awkward sequences and it seems to be broken when, in one of the film’s greatest sequences, Spyros drives his truck through a cafe to pick up the girl (who remains nameless, by the way) but unfortunately it seems she isn’t quite “ready” when the next sequence on the boat arrives. It’s such psychological confusion that makes this film so great. Human relationships and all the complexities they entail are and will always be more interesting than a allegory on some obscure historical event.

Another great acting troupe/theater-related film from Mizoguchi, the other, of course, being Love of Sumako the Actress. This one is fairly different though, even if it also tells the tragedy of a would-be romance. I guess I could see this as the same sort of story with the roles reversed. Here, we follow a male actor trying to downplay his name, in Sumako we follow a female actor trying to make a name for herself. The true similarities lie in the fact that both films show Mizoguchi’s writing at it’s most perceptive, a trait often overlooked by his “spiritual” reputation brought on by many of his later films.

Kikunosuke is likely to follow in the foot steps of his adoptive father, Kikugoro, and become a great actor. There’s a problem though: he’s a terrible actor and perhaps even worse, no one is willing to tell him. He asks friends for feedback after a subpar performance but they only give him what they suspect he wants to hear. One night he strikes up a conversation with Otoku, the nurse of his (new-born) brother. She is the first person who is honest with his acting talent, or lack thereof. Dedicated to perfecting his craft, Kikunosuke begins spending more and more time with Otoku, which eventually evolves into rumors. Eventually, Otoku is fired by the family and returns to her parents. Kikunosuke, upset, leaves his adopted family to marry Otoku and become a genuinely good actor. However, the couple’s ideal plan doesn’t work out quite how they wanted and as life becomes harder, they begin to drift further apart.

Much like Mizoguchi’s own Sisters of the Gion, this is about as perfectly crafted as a film can be. I particularly love just flawlessly the long tracking shots can lead into long, distanced static shots. I suppose this could be classified as his “early” style and it’s great to finally see on a decent print; Sisters of the Gion only exists from an old VHS. Needless to say, this looks really great.

On the other more subjective end of the spectrum, this didn’t up as great as I had hoped for. Perhaps it’s just the increasing amounts of Mizoguchi I’ve been pilling on my viewing schedule but I’m getting a bit weary of some of his weaker cinematic traits. Does there need to be such a tragic tone to every film he makes? I mean, it’s not tragedy that bothers me per se but the very Mythological way in which Mizoguchi structures it. The scenes in which are protagonist are at their lowest (financially and emotionally) reveal nothing and feel more like “plot time” as opposed to time for fleshing the characters out. My next compliant is a little less problematic but in any case, I find the ellipses a tad bit annoying. The unneccessary “1 year later…” intertitles bother me more than anything, but still it felt like the film needed to cut ahead in time whenever nothing dramatic was occurring.

Personally, I would have preferred more anti-dramatic scenes that would give some better character development. It seems a lot of said scenes were attempted to be squeezed in towards the end. There’s a really good one, in which Otoku stares at the floor for a uncomfortable amount of time. There’s a really bad one too, in which Kikunosuke, finally achieving (deserved) fame reunites with an ill Otoku. A good idea but the sequence just amounts to Kikunosuke monologuing. It’s such scenes that really downplay the rest of Mizoguchi’s writing, which tends to feel very natural and spontaneous. This could be a good explanation as to why he’s never been seen as understanding human relationships as well as Ozu and Naruse. In a film like this, it almost seems like he’s trying to simplify certain things just so dumb people can understand it.

For the most part, though, this is a really great film that’s only marred by some trademark flaws. Even though I did accuse Mizoguchi of dumbing things down with characters, he’s completely relentless in his technical approach. In all honesty, this isn’t that much more slower (in relation to shot length) than Tsai’s work and he isn’t even generally accepted here in 2008. I have a hard time imagining what audiences in 1939 would react to something similarly minimalistic. In that case, I guess some conventional drama needed to be thrown in to even things out. Even with such shades of melodrama, this is a very deep and tender character study presented in the most elegant of ways.